


Don't Go (Where I Can't Follow)

by SherlockianSyndromes



Series: Prompt Fills 2018 [15]
Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Injured Sherlock, M/M, PTSD Sherlock, Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 10:33:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15217265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianSyndromes/pseuds/SherlockianSyndromes
Summary: Doctor Watson tends to Sherlock's wounds after an investigation takes a wrong turn.Ritchielock 'verse.





	Don't Go (Where I Can't Follow)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for Day 8 of the watsons_woes July Writing Prompts challenge.
> 
> It also fulfills the Wild Card space on my bingo card for H/C Bingo Round 9. The prompt I used was Lacerations/Knife Wounds.

Watson gathered the supplies he would need to dress Holmes’ wound properly. The last few hours played over and over again in his mind while his hands busily laid out tools and medicinal remedies.

He’d just returned to 221B from an appointment with a lovely older woman he’d been treating for years. She was beginning to show signs of rheumatoid arthritis, and Watson was trying anything and everything to ease her pain. His mind wandered as he stepped over the threshold, but his inner thoughts were quickly derailed by Mrs. Hudson.

“Doctor Watson, I’ve just received a message from Inspector Lestrade. He says Mr. Holmes is at the police station and he’s nearly catatonic. He asked if you would retrieve him.”

Watson smiled sadly. “A man’s work is never done, Mrs. Hudson.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know why you choose to associate with him. He’s nothing but trouble.”

Watson’s smile faded. “Somebody needs to save him from himself. Might as well be me.”

When Watson arrived at the station, Lestrade was at his side in an instant.

“He was investigating what we suspect to be a secret society that dealt in most vile acts. Torture and the like. One of the acolytes found him and, well...it was a good thing we arrived when we did.”

Watson glared at Lestrade. “Why were you so late in getting to him?”

Lestrade huffed and shrugged. “He was very secretive and gave me only vague instructions. I think he planned to take care of the matter _without_ our help.”

“Of course.” Watson shook his head. “Take me to him.”

What he saw when he entered the room nearly ripped his heart in twain. He’d seen Holmes under the influence of drugs before, but this wasn’t something he’d done to himself. The man was expressionless, rocking back and forth slightly, and muttering in rapid fire...Latin?

“Vox populi, vox dei. Vox populi, vox dei. Vox populi, vox dei.” Holmes repeated the words over and over again, his pupils dilated and his left hand clutching desperately at his right arm.

Watson glanced at Lestrade. “Do you have any idea what happened?”

“No, but we do know his arm was lacerated by a broken blade. I think they were in the middle of doing some sort of ritual and needed his blood.”

Watson grunted angrily. “This is barely dressed at all! Why did no one take care of this?”

“We thought _you_ could take care of it.”

“And I’m going to. Excuse me, Inspector.” Watson knelt down in front of Holmes and tried to make eye contact with him.

“Holmes. Holmes, it’s me. It’s Watson.”

Holmes blinked and ceased his mumbling. “...John?”

“Yes. John. Let’s go home. Do you want to go home?”

Holmes nodded brusquely. Watson helped him stand up, his hands gently steering him through the station, out the front door, and into a hansom cab.

It was always when Holmes did things on his own, when he thought himself invincible, that he danced too close to the fire, blew a kiss at Death in jest. _If only he would wait. If only he would let me in,_ Watson thought to himself, absently moving a bottle of medicine a centimeter to the right on his tray.

Watson brought the tray into Holmes’ room, where he sat curled up in his favorite chair. He still appeared numb and vacant, but there were no more whispers in Latin, no more dilated pupils - just an empty husk. While it still wasn’t the most desired state, Watson hoped that Holmes was now out of the danger zone and on more stable ground.

He knelt in front of Holmes again.

“Sherlock, I need to clean your arm. Can you show it to me please?”

Holmes didn’t look at him, only let go of his injured arm and held it out for Watson. Watson unwrapped the filthy rag and saw a jagged gash on his arm.

“Oh, Sherlock.” Watson set to work cleaning and bandaging the wound. Holmes never flinched, just stared into empty space while his jaw worked meticulously.

Even in a nearly blank state, his brain never stopped. Watson wondered if there was anything in the world that could quiet the noise besides a cocaine habit.

He wrapped Holmes’ arm up and patted it gently. “Finished.”

“Vox populi, vox dei.” Holmes muttered.

“What does that mean? Tell me.” Watson wanted to hear him speak, hoped that would bring him out of the depths of whatever harrowing experience he’d been through.

“The voice of the people is the voice of God.”

Watson nodded. “I see.”

“It was the only thing they said once the ritual started.” Holmes’ voice trembled.

Watson curled his hand around Holmes’ hand. “It’s over now. You’re safe.”

Holmes finally looked at him. “Sorry, my dear Watson. Performance issues. Won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t. Especially if you drag me along on your misadventures.”

Holmes said nothing, but they continued to look at each other in silence.

“You don’t have to do this on your own, you know. I don’t care to see you like that again.” Watson whispered.

“Duly noted, Doctor.” Holmes leaned forward in his chair and pressed his forehead against Watson’s, releasing a shaky breath.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Are you willing to bring me some seven percent solution, perhaps?”

Watson shook his head, a begrudgingly fond smile on his face. “Would you settle for a cup of tea?”

Sherlock gave him a tired smirk. “I suppose that will have to do, Watson.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. :)


End file.
